


Weapons of Mass Destruction

by kuro49



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: If-I-bully-you-it-means-I-love-you!Charles, M/M, and also manly tears, comfort!Erik, love love by take that, warnings for alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles/Erik. Because Erik is not the only one with the dark past and Charles is keen on making him cry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weapons of Mass Destruction

**Author's Note:**

> Because I believe Erik cries a little too much in the film and I have such a kink for dark!Charles.

__1._ You’ll never be your mother or your father do you understand?_  
  
He sees her drink, something as clear as the day outside, because there is no door to block his sight.  
  
Her lips are blood red and he is not old enough to distinguish how strong the alcohol she is taking in but he has seen enough and he knows she won’t be getting out of bed until five in the afternoon. (When Kurt comes home, and then they will argue and argue until she complains of a headache.)  
  
She has on her favourite red dress and a pearl necklace, the one she doesn’t let him touch, or maybe it is the other one, she doesn’t let him touch that either. Still, when she drops the bottle to the carpeted floor, there is no one to call her on her mistake and she is like the mistress no one wants to mention.  
  
His mother walks idly out of the room, catching sight of him, and smiles as she pauses by the doorway.  
  
“Darling,” she doesn’t use his name, he can see it in the way his face barely lights up recognition in her head, she is afraid she will mess up, “don’t you have homework to do?”  
  
He lies for all the obvious reasons, “I finished,” it is her he is afraid the truth will hurt.  
  
“Brilliant, run along and play then, I guess.” Her words don’t slur into each other, she is still classy, she is still beautiful, but she is no more of a mother than a drunken woman. She is long pass the point of no return.  
  
As she makes her way downstairs, through the hall and into the wine cellar as the plush carpets swallows the clicks of her high heels, Charles stands still, breathing in soft gasps of perfume she leaves in her wake.  
  
It is only when it disappears that he finally dares to venture into the master bedroom.  
  
“Like mother...” his feet lands in too soft carpets and his eyes rest on the memories of her, the ones he replays over and over in his mind.  
  
  
If anxiety feels like butterflies flapping in your stomach then courage is claws tearing you inside out.  
  
  
Bringing it to his mouth, he kisses the lipstick stain at the mouth of the bottle and tastes alcohol for the first time.  
  
“Like son.”  
  
The bitterness is enough to bring him to tears.

 

2\. _Give me, give me what I need._  
  
Charles’ head is hurting, a dull throb that he can live without.  
  
Still, this isn’t the first time.  
  
He looks up from the sink and sees himself. His eyes are rimmed with red, not blood or tears, just a heavy set of reminder that he has been wrung out in his sleep. Even when he closes his eyes, anticipating solemn comfort, he wakes up with an exhaustion he doesn’t even have when he first lies down.  
  
Charles drags a hand across his face before straightening his stance.  
  
It is the same cardigan from last night but there is no whiskey stains so he shrugs it over his shirt and walks out of his room.  
  
The morning afters are always the worst because it hasn’t even been six hours since he has last seen Erik’s face. Only he isn’t the same man he has shared a bed with and no, it’s not like he doesn’t want to see Erik, he does, he wants to see him bad.  
  
It is just—  
  
There is distance when a man is willing to walk back to his own room after sex than stay in your bed for the night. There is a stretch of dead man’s land, lining with barbed wire and straining with warnings of do not cross.  
  
And it isn’t the distrust that makes him think, Erik doesn’t trust anyone anyway, it is the lack of patience that he is feeling.  
  
He makes himself a cup of tea as the kids file into the kitchen for breakfast.  
  
Charles feels frustration but he is trying to do the right thing without damning them all to hell.  
  
And then Erik enters, dissolving all his resolve into fragile hearts fill to the brim with want and need and broken glass.  
  


3\. _You’re at the gates of evolution._  
  
“Anyone?” Sean holds up the last piece of buttered toast, fingers all crumbs on flesh.  
  
“Nah, juice is mine’s though.” Alex reaches for the jug across the table just as Angel holds out her glass, not as an offer but as a definite must. She dryly reminds him, black nails gripping at the clear cup. “Leave some for the rest of us.”  
  
“There’s more in the fridge.” Raven points out as she finishes her eggs.  
  
“It’s not the same.” Sean is speaking between bites and Darwin is silent, just offers him napkins sitting at the centre of the table.  
  
“Actually, it is.” Hank puts his hand up, like this is a classroom and there are teachers.  
  
Whether anyone is actually looking, Charles is smiling because he is capable of doing too many horrible deeds otherwise.  
  
Erik sips, painfully slow, at his black coffee, like he is enjoying their banter, and then torturing Charles some more. Tempting him to force him to stay, like they both know he can.  
  
But the shame will always bring bile to rise from his throat.  
  
Like they both know it will.  
  
Charles drinks his tea in silence and there are no probing thoughts to seek for forgiveness, for last night, for tonight, and also tomorrow’s night while he is at it.  
  
If Raven is the telepath in their bond, she will definitely comment on the fact that he is in over his head with the new boy in town. But she is the shape-shifter and he is thankful to a certain degree.  
  


4\. _We’re not too far, we’re down here._  
  
“You have been drinking.” _Again._  
  
Their lips are pressed together, whiskey tongue pushing at an unwilling mouth, lacking in the comfort of alcohol and a hazy mind. Charles knows Erik doesn’t understand that he needs this, almost as much as he needs him because when Erik pulls back, there isn’t a shred of hesitation.  
  
“I was thirsty.”  
  
Charles’ apologetic stare settles easily at the blue of his iris. But Erik knows better, he isn’t sorry in the slightest. Maybe it is the way he eagerly presses their bodies together, a fair guess when Erik catches that twinkle in those eyes.  
  
In Charles Xavier’s perspective, he thinks it is the thought that counts and this, it is the farthest his efforts has ever gone. When Erik is the only one he is willing to go this far for, should it not be more than enough?  
  
He smiles, wickedly.  
  
“And I am hungry.”  
  
Reaching out, his fingers closes around the black of Erik’s turtleneck. There is no shred of possessiveness, the chess set has a funny method of getting rid of all that negative feelings, it is just a thin and fragile _come on_ from this point forward.  
  
Charles pulls him into bed, grip unnecessarily weak but Erik knows he is just as dangerous as him, if not ten times more.  
  
It is the way the blue eyes glint, the way his lips are gnawed red. It is everything but his telepathy.  
  
Erik falls into the bed, Charles more than eager as his fingertips grow restless, gripping and ghosting over clothes and skin.  
  
They are still right where they have started out.  
  
And they have no intention of doing better.  
  
Whatever they have, this, it is good enough.  
  


5\. _We’re getting close to the centre of the earth with an honest plan._  
  
Raven turns a blind eye to everything she can easily make out.  
  
(Charles’s languid smiles, easy conversations and chessboards spread out in nearly every room of the house are merely indications. It is Erik’s red eyes)  
  
“Charles, you look tired.”  
  
“Oh,” he rubs at his eyes, “it’s nothing, not enough sleep last night, I guess.”  
  
“You should rest then, how about a nap until dinner?”  
  
“I’ll be fine, Raven. There is something I need to discuss with Erik. Do you know where he is? I can’t seem to find him.”  
  
“I haven’t got the faintest clue.”  
  
With eyes flickering gold and blue, she just wants to wash the memories from her mind. There is too much she is seeing and too little left to the imagination, she is willing Charles to kiss her all right with thoughts screaming a mantra in her head.  
  
(It is loud enough to blind her to Charles’ reply.)  
  
But he is never listening in on her.  
  
He turns away with a short wave and the last sound of her name on his tongue when all Raven wants to do is run.  
  


6\. _And time, it travels far too fast._  
  
He is gentle, terribly gentle when they first brush up, lips to lips and Erik is actually openly allowing him to connect.  
  
Nothing is harsh at all.  
  
But it is just that that makes the hurt far greater.  
  
It is all too easy, far too easy, they have to take it slow to make it right. (Otherwise, it will be blood and bruises lying matted in hugs and kisses.)  
  
His jacket comes off, dropped over the shoulder and it falls right back at their feet.  
  
Charles is the one catching his mouth, mind bright and blurry with alcohol and there is an understanding.  
  
They are both a whirlwind of mass destruction and a blinking button of self-destruct. There is no difference to the course of action when the results are all the same.  
  
Still, who’s to say who’s to go: Erik can’t take him and Charles can’t get to him.  
  
Likewise, the nights will continue to bleed into dawn.  
  
There is a layer, a heavy mist, of sentiments and Erik thinks he might just cry and it doesn’t even have anything to do with the way violence is always absent from Charles’ fingertips. No, its something else, something in the way Charles pushes into him.  
  
And a groan is all that fills their ears.  
  


7\. _You bring me right back down to earth from the promise land._  
  
When Erik dreams, there are no pleasantries.  
  
Because Erik dreams of black iron gates and metal knifes tracing copper red as Charles flips another page under the light of the bedside lamp and soothes a hand over Erik’s bare shoulders.  
  
Over old scars and invisible wounds he can’t (and doesn’t want to) heal.  
  
He likes the way Erik is, as he is, all brisk and dangerous but he loves the fact that this is the first night Erik has ever decided to stay. Or maybe all the previous nights have just never been tonight. Charles can’t really wrap his head around it but he is glad all the same because he sort of has him, right where he has always wanted him.  
  
He flips to another page as Erik shifts beneath his touch.  
  
That night, Charles doesn’t sleep, or in another perspective, he has never woken up. Still, it is the way dawn breaks over Erik’s skin, Charles thinks, that keeps his eyes wide open and throat all dry and sandy.  
  
He swallows.  
  
  
Erik breaks things with his hands, but Charles is different, he breaks them through the core of their very existence. He takes in their dreams and manifests them into nightmares, Charles is not a saviour the same way Erik is a weapon.  
  
“Morning.”  
  
There is none of that darling Charles likes to play around with when Erik wakes up to the sight of him and there is a feeling that wells up in his chest. He can’t really put it in a language he knows by heart but it feels a little like: What I would give to give another in your place for all the damage I will do.  
  
But that is putting it lightly.  
  
He closes his eyes and shifts closer to Charles, their skin touch, bare flesh against— it is then that last night’s memories surface from locked boxes inside his head.  
  


8\. _This is a first class journey from the Gods to the son of man._  
  
There are hands and then there are Charles’ hands.  
  
Sometimes he can’t tell the difference and sometimes they are all he sees and feels and knows and needs. Erik doesn’t know what he is becoming, there is thrill and fear and hate and anger, but at that, he feels like himself again and he is all right until the next time Charles puts a hand on him.  
  
Neither is completely naked but the human body is shame and filth and the only ties they still have with men. Loose belt buckles, half tucked shirts, bare sides and a daunting sex appeal they have never found in anyone else.  
  
Charles’ hands run along his skin, taunting and teasing with specks of love and lust. Why he doesn’t try to run is the least of Erik’s concerns because he sees the imminent danger almost as clearly as he can feel those fingers (the man can read your thoughts, and then some more but who cares, right?)  
  
He drives him into the sheets with a force they both need just as much and of course, there will always be that edge of pain that anchors them both but what they don’t expect, or what Erik never imagines there to be were tears, leaking from the corner of his own green-blue-blue-greens.  
  
It is all a blur and hot hot heat pooling over skin and flesh.  
  
But Charles is his trigger and Erik is failing as the damage control.  
  
“We... we’re perfect together, Erik.”  
  
Charles coos into his ear as they ride out their climax together.  
  
His sweat tastes of ashes but his tears are still the same old salty chagrin he can’t wash off. Their grip on each other only ever tightens.  
  
XXX Kuro


End file.
